


Flying Lessons

by cryptaknight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Flying, Hogwarts Eighth Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-06-28 03:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15699039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptaknight/pseuds/cryptaknight
Summary: Draco is surprised when Hermione turns to him for flying lessons, but then everything is a little bit different upon their return to Hogwarts after the war.





	Flying Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, K, for beta-ing and helping me brainstorm! Thank you to the HP Drizzle Fest mods for running such a great fest!

_This is stupid,_ Draco thinks, waiting on the north end of the Quidditch pitch. _She's not going to show._ But he stays there, holding his Nimbus 2001- which he'd never upgraded, not even when Potter had gotten his stupid Firebolt, even though his father accused him of being silly and sentimental- because he'd said he'd be there, and Draco is working on being a Better Person, and leaving before the appointed time is probably not part of that.

He'd been pretty well shocked when Granger had approached him in the library, to ask him to help her improve her flying skills. Why not Potter or Weasley, he'd asked. Granger had said, "Well, they're not here."

And that made sense, because it was true that neither Potter nor Weasley had elected to return to school to make up for the studies they'd missed, instead heading straight into the Auror training program, which had made exceptions for members of the so-called Dumbledore's Army, partly because Auror numbers were depleted by the war, and partly because the Ministry had decided those on the right side of things were war heroes. Draco cynically thought the Ministry had concluded it would be good publicity to have the likes of Potter among the Auror ranks, and since Potter rarely went anywhere without Weasley by his side, they'd been accepted as a package deal. Not that Draco had given any great thought to it, or anything. He'd returned to Hogwarts so his transcript would be complete, and Granger had likely returned for the same reason, along with many of their year-mates- enough so that they filled a classroom, anyway. Plus, Better Person, and all that entailed. The "eighth year" students, as they'd been dubbed, also devoted time to helping rebuild the damaged areas of the school. That was the sort of thing a Better Person would do.

 

Still. He is not so improved that he will stand here indefinitely, waiting for someone who is not planning to turn up. He decides he will give it ten more minutes, and then he will leave before a gaggle of Gryffindor pop up in the stands, pointing and having a laugh at his expense. He is just about to pack it in, scolding himself for being so gullible and resolving to put a potion that will turn Granger's hair purple into her repulsive coffee, when Granger appears on the Quidditch pitch, bushy hair bouncing about her shoulders. 

Her voice is breathless as she says, "I'm sorry to be late. I forgot about the new Apparation rule."

"You?" Draco quirks an eyebrow upward, skeptical. " _You_ forgot a rule?"

"I was tutoring some third years in Arithmancy and I lost track of the time." 

"Hmm. The new rule is stupid." No Apparating outside of the castle until the outer wards were fully reinforced. It seems a bit overprotective to Draco. "But you couldn't have Apparated onto the pitch anyway." He can't resist making the correction.

After all of the shenanigans surrounding Potter's Hogwarts Quidditch career, the school staff had decided that magic, other than that which was necessary for the sport, was forbidden on the pitch and in the surrounding stands. So flying is allowed, and cushioning charms layered the ground, and the Snitch can still do its thing, but no one can cast spells from the stands or put any extra enchantments on the equipment. Draco thinks this policy should have been in place after Potter's very first match, but supposes late is better than never.

"I could have Apparated closer." 

Granger makes sense, but Draco is unwilling to tell her that, so he just makes a noncommittal noise and gestures toward the Nimbus 2000 in Granger's hand. "Is that yours?"

"No," she says, glancing at the broom. "I borrowed it from Ginny."

Draco frowns. "Brooms work better when they're yours. They're like wands that way. You ought to get your own, if you plan to continue flying."

"That all depends on how tonight goes." 

Granger's tone is dry, and Draco realizes that she is unsure of herself. It's not something he's seen from her before. It occurs to him to ask her why she didn't just ask Ginny Weasley to instruct her, but decides against talking her out of letting him be her teacher. He's not entirely sure why he cares, except that life has been very monotonous since his return to Hogwarts, and not in a particularly enjoyable way. This, at least, is something different. And he does love to fly. He looks away, takes a breath, and turns back to her, dropping his usual haughty demeanor.

"It'll probably do for your purposes tonight," he concedes. "You remember the lesson Hooch gave us first year? We'll start there."

He sets his own Nimbus 2001 on the pitch, and waits for Granger to do the same. He then extends his arm, and gives the _Up!_ command. The smooth wood smacks firmly into his hand, the broom hovering just above his knees. He looks at Granger, giving her a nod to do the same. Her borrowed broom is a bit wobbly, but it obeys her. She offers Draco a small smile, and he frowns again.

"Now mount it, and find your balance," he instructs, demonstrating how to do so in a practiced motion. 

It takes Granger a minute or two to find a balanced position, but she does it. She smiles again, and Draco finds himself giving her an encouraging nod.

"Now, use your body to signal to the broom you want to move forward." He leans over his own broom, his shoulders and head pointed forward, and broom glides forward a few feet. He looks back toward Granger, and is surprised to see she looks a bit nervous. He remembers vaguely that Granger is afraid of heights. "We're going to go the length of the pitch, but we'll keep it at this level."

Granger visibly relaxes, and moves her broom forward until she is even with Draco.

"Good," he says. "Now stay by me; we'll take it slow."

They spend a half hour or so gliding the length of the pitch, back and forth, Granger a bit more confident each time. He doesn't take Granger any higher than she'd be able to reach with her feet if she panicked or fell. At the end of their last lap, he brakes the broom and demonstrates a smooth dismount. Granger copies the motion.

"Are we done?" she asks. He notices she is already holding the broom more comfortably, instead of like it might bite her.

"For now, I think," Draco says. "Unless you're eager for more time with me?"

Granger shakes her head, her curls bouncing vigorously. She's smirking, though, so Draco decides not to take offense.

"Next time, we'll have to practice ascending and descending." They'll do it in increments, Draco thinks, but he doesn't say so aloud, enjoying the tiny bit of apprehension that crosses Granger's face, erasing her smirk.

"Alright," she says, biting her lower lip. Draco looks away, fiddling with his broom's handle. "Thank you, for tonight."

Draco nods. "Don't mention it. I needed a break from the monotony." 

Which is true enough. Slytherin is strange these days; most of his year-mates had elected not to return. Theodore and Pansy had claimed they didn't need it. Draco reckons they didn't want to face the stares and censure that went along with being a Slytherin with Death Eater parents, and in Pansy's case, attempting to turn Harry Potter over to the Dark Lord. Blaise had gone to Europe. The only other Slytherin in their year that had returned was Daphne Greengrass, and Draco tends to avoid her because his mother keeps making approving comments about what a nice family the girl came from, and he is not interested in being paired off.

He stands there, studiously not looking at Granger, and the moment grows more and more awkward as they realize they will have to walk back to the castle together. Finally they start moving, almost at the same time. They walk in silence at first, but Draco has never been able to abide a silence for long.

"Quite a few Gryffindor have come back for the extra year, haven't they?" he says. As a conversational gambit, it's up there with _Nice weather we're having, eh?_ but it's all he can think of to talk about with Hermione Granger,

"Yes," she says brightly, and Draco thinks maybe she doesn't like the silence either. "McGonagall had to expand the tower to accommodate us."

"Slughorn didn't have to do that for Slytherin. He just put Greengrass and I in with the seventh years."

Granger gives him a funny look. Draco isn't sure he cares for it. 

She says, "Well, if you get tired of the seventh years, you can always hang out with the rest of us 'eighth years'. We meet in the Room of Requirement sometimes. Not anything official, just… being around people who know what it was like."

Draco cuts his eyes in her direction, quick and sharp. "Greengrass and I do alright."

He doesn't point out that most of the people Granger is referring to were part of Dumbledore's Army, and they likely won't welcome him. Some of them still see him as an enemy. He's not sure they're wrong. In any case, Draco has not set foot in the Room of Requirement since being chased out by fiendfyre. He's not sure it holds anything for him but the ghost of a former friend and the ashes of his greatest shame.

He's grateful to find they've reached the entrance to the school. They part ways near the Great Hall; Granger goes up the staircase to Gryffindor Tower. Draco descends, down to the Slytherin dungeon common room.

No one says anything when Draco walks in, broom in hand. There had been a time when his entrance would have mattered. Now the younger Slytherins become very studious, their noses parked in books or sitting in groups that tighten imperceptibly as he makes his way through the common room, up to the room he shared with the seventh year boys. He puts his broom into its case and lies back on his bed, drawing the curtains closed around him.

Never would he have imagined that a flying lesson with Hermione Granger would have been the best thing to happen to him all week.

The next time Granger meets him on the pitch, she has a different broom with her. He recognizes it as a Flyte and Barker Twigger 100, a fine broomstick which had corrected a lot of the issues in the 90 model. Draco raises his eyebrows, the question asked though unspoken.

"McGonagall recommended it. She let me borrow her Quality Quidditch Supplies catalog and I made an owl post order." Granger's cheeks flush a little. 

"It's a good broom," Draco says mildly. He thinks he probably should have replaced his Nimbus by now, but it had always done him well and he wasn't playing on the house team anymore, anyway. The Twigger is a pretty thing, polished and streamlined, the trimmings a nice shiny silver. It suits Granger.

This lesson focuses on ascending and descending, as he'd promised, but he doesn't take her any higher than the lowest hoop on the pitch. There will be time to go higher, he thinks. Granger wouldn't have bought a broom if she didn't intend to keep on with the lessons.

She does. The evening meetings on the pitch become a regular thing, though they don't make a schedule or anything like that. That would be too formal. Usually one approaches the other, just a brief moment, after dinner or before class- _Are you free tonight?_ \- and they arrange to meet. Each time Draco takes Granger a little bit higher, a little bit further, makes the ascent a little bit steeper, has her fly across the pitch a little bit faster. Each time he sees her apprehension melt away just a bit more. In a month's time, Granger is sitting on the broomstick like it comes naturally. She isn't quite one with her broom yet, but she's getting there. Draco tries to stuff the pride he feels as deep down as he possibly can.

One evening, he says, "I think you're ready for a race, Granger. Four turns around the pitch, make sure you lean into the corners. What do you think?"

"I think you're on," she says, grinning at him. He's gotten used to her smiles, and doesn't look away this time. 

She ties her hair back- she's told him she doesn't like the way it whips into her face when she flies- and mounts her Twigger. "Don't go easy on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco says, unaware of the smile that splits his own face. 

Granger approaches flying like she does every subject she studies, competing with herself more than with anyone else, but always wanting to earn top marks and mastery. And Draco can't help but be competitive; it is his nature. 

He tosses a knut into the air, and when it hits the ground, they take off. Draco is ahead almost instantly. He has been doing this for seven years, after all. He almost forgets it's a race, when he's in the air. Flying is freedom for him, freedom and sheer joy, and approaches it with an almost reckless air that is different from how he approaches most anything else in his life. Everything else falls away, and he is alone with the wind blowing his hair back from his face, and no ground beneath his feet or ceiling over his head, nothing holding him anywhere, the broom almost an extension of his body. Granger stays close; he's aware of her behind and to the left of him. As he completes the fourth turn around the pitch, he sharply reverses position, turning around to gloat at Granger. As he opens his mouth, a jagged bolt of lightning breaks through the clouds, striking somewhere just beyond the pitch, and then thunder rolls above their heads, drowning out anything he might say.

The downpour starts immediately after. Granger yelps as she is unceremoniously drenched. Shaking his wet hair out of his eyes, Draco scans the immediate area. Blast the stupid Apparation rule. Blast the anti-magic warding on the pitch. 

"The storage shed," he yells, and pulls his broom sharply round again, heading for the shed where the Quidditch equipment was stored, hoping Granger heard him and is following.

Granger lands and runs into the small building right behind him. She pulls the door shut tight, and the shed lights up with a soft warm glow. Draco is grateful the shed is charmed and they won't be stuck sitting in the dark, unable to do any magic of their own. Both he and Granger are dripping wet, puddles forming under their feet, however, and there is not much they can do about that. Granger immediately begins rummaging around in the boxes stored in the shed, looking for anything useful. Draco follows suit.

"Ahah!" Granger exclaims, and turns around brandishing a flap of fabric in Draco's direction.

"What's that?" he asks, though he understands as soon as he takes it all in. He wrinkles his nose. "Old Quidditch uniforms. Hufflepuff, by the look of them. And old enough that they were probably already in this shed when my parents went to school."

"Beggars can't be choosers. They're dry, at least," Granger says cheerfully, tossing one to Draco. "Turn around, I'm going to put it on. You should do the same."

Draco does as he's bid, giving Granger her privacy. He hesitates a moment, then acquiesces with a sigh, stripping off his wet clothing and pulling on the pair of egregiously high waisted black trousers and the high-necked, obnoxiously yellow jersey. Definitely from his father's school days, he thought. While he waits for Granger to give him the go ahead to turn back around, he combs his drenched hair back from his face and away from his ears.

He hears Granger giggle and scowls. He dares a look back over his shoulder, but she is still changing, so he snaps his eyes forward again.

"I'm sorry," she says, but he can still hear the mirth in her voice. "But you look like my dad and my uncles did in photos from when they were at uni." She shuffles a bit, then says, "You can turn around now."

Draco turns, then emits an embarrassingly squeaky sound. "You don't have any trousers on," he says, trying not to sound too accusatory.

"I know," Granger says. "They're all cut quite slender. The large ones are too big, but the medium ones don't want to go over my bum. Besides, the shirt is fairly long."

It skims her thighs. Draco doesn't want to embarrass her, though, or come off like some kind of horndog. Instead, he says, "So I look like your dad?"

Granger lets loose another peal of laughter. "Well, not the coloring. You're very fair. But the clothing, yes. And your hair is that length, you know, near the jaw line."

"I'm cutting it immediately," Draco says, appalled.

"No, don't you dare," Granger says. She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "Just…" She leans over, mussing his hair a bit, so it's not so slicked back from his face. "There. That's a bit more modern." She tilts her head, and bites her lip. "I think it looks nicer when it's not so severe, anyway. I like it longer."

"I don't exactly think about what _you_ like when I decide what to do with my hair," Draco says, but he leaves his hair the way she tousled it.

"I'm sure you don't," Granger says, her tone light. "But it's longer than it's ever been and I'm just saying I like it. It's a compliment."

"Hmmph." Draco locates a trunk, likely filled with quaffles or bludgers, and pulls it over. He pats the top of it, inviting Granger to sit next to him. She does, and he tries again not to notice how long and how tanned her legs are, or think about how curvy her bum must be to make the trousers impossible. "I've just been lazy about it, to be honest with you."

Granger raises her eyebrows. "I've never known you to be lazy."

Draco shrugs. "I'm not here to be handsome. I'm here to make up my studies, and to…" He trails off, realizing he almost told her he was there to be a Better Person. She didn't need to know that. "To finish my education."

"Likewise," Granger says. "And because I felt guilty."

Draco turns his head sharply, his gaze intent. "What on earth do you have to feel guilty about?"

Granger sighs and leans back, tilting her head to meet his stare. "I didn't want to trade on my name. I didn't think it would be right to take some flashy job when I hadn't even completed my courses."

"Like Potter and Weasley did?" Draco asks this carefully. He doesn't want to rouse her ire. 

"I guess," Granger answers, just as carefully. "I understand Harry not coming back. He'd gone through so much, and if anyone is qualified to be an Auror, it's him. But Ronald…" She shakes her head. "We had a row over it. Him not coming back to school, I mean. And when I said to him what I just said to you, he got very offended. I think he thought I was taking a swipe at him. I wasn't. I was only speaking for myself. But we broke up over it."

Draco is silent a long moment. Finally, he says. "Oh, I didn't know." 

"Yes, you did." Granger says this matter-of-factly. "Everyone did. It was in the Prophet."

Draco doesn't want to admit to reading Rita Skeeter's column. Instead, he says, "The Prophet reporters aren't allowed here." He pauses. "Thank Merlin."

Now it's Granger's turn to stare at him intently. "You surprised me, you know. Coming back."

"I figured it was better to face things head on. I was going to have to do it eventually, anyway. My mum was against it. She thinks the family is under enough scrutiny. The only reason she gave in, in the end, was because Daphne Greengrass is here and she's hoping I'll make a match that will scrub some of the dirt from the Malfoy name."

Draco is not sure why he is being so candid, but it occurs to him that, of all the people in the school, Hermione Granger possibly knows him the best of anyone. She's seen all the dirt he had to offer. She's known him since he was an eleven year old git who'd been perfectly horrible to her. Somewhere between the Snatchers bringing her to his house and now, all the Gryffindor versus Slytherin, Potter versus Malfoy shite had fallen away. They know each other, in the way only two people who had been through a war can. The old lines he'd drawn between them had blurred so badly that they may as well have been erased.

Then Granger says, "I admire that." She reaches up and fiddles with his hair again. Softly, she says, "I admire you."

"Me?" Draco does not think there is much to admire, much less by someone like her. 

"Yes," she says, and she says it in a way that brooks no argument. "You've done a hard thing, when you didn't have to do it." 

A pit has formed in Draco's stomach, but it is warm and filled with fondness for Granger, fondness that he knows has been growing for a while. He shakes his head. No. She is being kind.

"Yes," she says again. Then, she smiles, an impish thing that makes Draco wary. "Draco. Do you think I still need help with flying? Do you think I couldn't have asked Ginny to help me?"

He just looks at her. He remembers wondering the same thing about Ginny Weasley during their first lesson. 

"I asked you to teach me because you seemed so alone, and I admired your bravery. And I kept coming even after I mastered the basics because I enjoy spending the time with you."

Her hand is on his hand now. He looks down; her hand is smaller and more slender than his, and is dark against his pale skin. All he can muster is, "Oh."

"Oh," Granger repeats, looking at him expectantly. He doesn't know what she expects. She rolls her eyes. "God, why am I always attracted to idiots?"

"Not fair, I got top m-" 

Draco's automatic protest is cut short by Granger's lips pressing against his mouth, briefly, but firm and sure. She draws back and looks at him expectantly again.

" _Oh,_ " he repeats, and then he cups her head in his hand, his mouth slanting against hers, kissing her as if his life depends upon it.

Her mouth is warm and inviting under his, and he spares a moment to be grateful for the thunderstorm, even if it did mean he was stuck in a Quidditch supply shed, wearing a uniform that hadn't seen the light of day since the early nineteen seventies, because it also meant he was kissing Hermione Granger. He thinks he quite likes kissing Hermione Granger.

When the kiss breaks, he draws back slightly, and quirks the corner of his mouth up in half a grin. "Does this mean flying lessons were a pretext? Because you could have just asked me for a snog. I might have obliged you."

Granger punches him lightly on his shoulder. "No! I really did want to learn how to fly a broomstick. And I don't know that I would have wanted to snog you, if I hadn't had the chance to get to know you like this."

Draco voices what he was thinking earlier. "You already know me better than anybody in that school." He tucks a stray curl, come loose from her ponytail, behind her ear. "I'm glad my flying skills made a positive impression, though."

Granger rolls her eyes once more. "It wasn't the flying. Though you do cut a dashing figure on a broomstick." She pauses, her demeanor more serious. "It was how you treated me while you taught me."

Draco just nods. Feelings talk is not his forte, and he doesn't want to say something stupid. Then Granger hooks her finger in the ugly turtleneck collar of the old Hufflepuff jersey he's wearing, and places a gentle kiss at the base of his throat, right where his pulse is thumping against his skin. He feels his eyelids flutter with pleasure, and he's glad she can't see his reaction from her vantage point.

"Okay," he says, his voice only a little jagged and rough around the edges. "Point taken." He uses his fingertips to tip her chin up so he can look into her eyes again. "So does this mean we're flying again tomorrow night?"

Granger shakes her head but says, "Yes."

 _Good_ , Draco thinks, as his mouth descends to meet hers again. Who knew what tomorrow's lesson might bring?


End file.
